


Word-A-Day

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: After the Battle at Triskelion, F/M, New SHIELD headquarters AU, Post-HYDRA Reveal, SHIELD, Sadness, Wistful Darcy, music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Just a wistful little scene of Darcy on move-in day at SHIELD. Follow ups will be similarly vocabulary-themed.





	1. Saudade

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

**_Saudade (plural: _ **saudades, Cape Verdean**_ Creole: sodade) _ **

_a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. One English translation of the word is missingness, although it might not convey the feeling of deep emotion attached to the word "saudade". Stronger forms of saudade might be felt towards people and things whose whereabouts are unknown, such as a lost lover, or a family member who has gone missing, moved away, separated, or died._

_Saudade was once described as "the love that remains" after someone is gone. Saudade is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well-being, which now triggers the senses and makes one live again. It can be described as an emptiness, like someone (e.g., one's children, parents, sibling, grandparents, friends, pets) or something (e.g., places, things one used to do in childhood, or other activities performed in the past) that should be there in a particular moment is missing, and the individual feels this absence. It brings sad and happy feelings together: sadness for missing and happiness for experiencing the past. -Wikipedia_

***

Darcy was insistent about the plants in Jane’s new lab at SHIELD in DC. “You need succulents,” she told the petite astrophysicist, “and some leafy green plants. They will make oxygen. You need oxygen for your big ol’ brain. Plus, they’ll soothe you. You can’t keep slapping people, moving here depleted our bail money fund.”

“Fine,” Jane said absently, staring at readings from her new, shiny equipment. They were only half unpacked, but Jane was already distracted. Darcy sighed. She’d be doing this alone. Maybe there was caffeine somewhere in proximity? She grabbed her favorite lucky messenger bag--her SAHM college friend Jennifer made them out of recycled coffee bags--and departed. But not before she wrote on the whiteboard: _Gone Caffeinating. May buy plants._ She signed it with a heart and a D _._ Jane would emerge from her daze and look around. Eventually.

Darcy put in her earbuds. She was on a Cesária Évora kick. “Sodade” was a great song even if she didn’t speak Portuguese. She’d googled and discovered it was about Cape Verdean migrant workers who’d left to work in far-off São Tomé and their longing for home ( _Sodade_ was the Creole equivalent of the Portuguese word for missingness, _saudade_ ). That made her like it more _._ She understood nostalgia for a past that felt just a little out of reach. Darcy had spent the years after Puente Antiguo happily following Jane to far-fung observatories and universities while Jane worked as a high-profile, much sought-after visiting professor. She’d shrugged off Ivy League offers to see the world, so Darcy’s passport was thick now. They’d lived first in the UK, then Norway, France, Germany, Finland, and Hungary. That had whetted Jane’s appetite for travel and comparative academic freedom. A visiting prof did not have to do committees or faculty meetings, Darcy had realized. Academic types mostly hated those.

Instead of settling down with a fat uni salary as expected, Jane had rebuffed Harvard, Columbia, and Yale in favor of three months in an ashram to “recharge” (Darcy: “Can we recharge somewhere where they don’t want me to eat so many vegetables next time?”) and then published an astounding sequence of articles that made her even more sought-after. Then she’d taken another round of visiting jobs. Darcy had spent semesters in Seoul, Toyko, and Delhi. She developed a genuine fondness for Japanese ramen, Bollywood movies, and Bhangra music. They had been debating Australia and New Zealand, actually, when Nick Fury got Thor to call them, begging for Jane’s temporary help on a SHIELD problem at the new, post-Battle of Triskelion headquarters. Jane, ever-shrewd, had asked for an exorbitant salary, full benefits, and a vehicle for both of them. She’d assumed Fury would say no. He said yes. Also, he’d put her in touch with a DC-based academic publisher who wanted her to write a book. Jane had dreamed of writing a book. DC it was.

It should have been a happy time for Darcy. She was back on the East Coast for six months, she wouldn’t be living out of luggage or in an apartment with unusual outlet voltage, and she wouldn’t need her expanding collection of pocket dictionaries and language apps. But a funny thing had happened over the years she’d worked for Jane: the world she knew in the States had moved on without her. Her friends got married, bought houses, and got normal 9-to-5 jobs. They seemed much older while she remained essentially the same. Her brother had two kids who, disappointingly, had not stayed tiny, squishable babies like she’d wanted them to. Her single mother met a guy and moved from the North Carolina town where Darcy had grown up to Riverside, California when he got a new job. Riverside was crazy fun to visit, but didn’t seem like going home, not really. She was estranged from her dad, so there was no communication there. Then, six months ago, Darcy’s grandparents had passed away within a few months of one another. They were her last connection to her home state. She’d sat in their empty kitchen in Greensboro, the one that always smelled like spices and potpourri, and wondered where she belonged. She was thirty-one and she didn’t have a fixed home anymore, not really. It was just her and Jane and frequent visits from the Thor-bear. Things with Ian had fizzled out somewhere between Finland and the ashram. That the ashram people had taken her cell phone away had not helped.

She knew she had no right to complain, but still-- _still._ She had taken leave of home without realizing it. She should have had a ceremony or something, those years ago. The Cape Verdeans--like the Irish during the 19th century famine who’d hosted “American wakes” for their loved ones before they departed--had coped with the sadness of leave-taking by creating a whole genre of music about it. The songs were called _morna_ songs _._ “Sodade” was one. Depending on who you asked, _morna_ either came from the English word for mourning or the Portuguese one for something warm and heartfelt. Sadness and sweetness intertwined. Cesária Évora had been famous for them. Darcy listened to her sing a sad-sounding refrain in Portuguese as she walked down the fluorescent-lit hallway at SHIELD, looking for coffee. She’d read a translation of it online once. Possibly an incorrect one since it was an online comment, but two supposed lines had stood out:

_Who showed you this distant path?_

_This path to São Tomé?_

Darcy was carrying a tall, leafy palm into the lab that afternoon when a thought occurred to her. They frequently did; she let them. It had gotten her in trouble in her classes, when she had commingled her bits of history and made comparisons that her professors seemed to find, well, strange and unusual, to quote _Beetlejuice_.She could hear Jane moving around, but not see her. It was a large palm. Lots of oxygen. “Has it ever occurred to you that “It’s A Long Way from Clare to Here” is an Irish version of a _morna_?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” a male voice said. “What’s a _morna_?” Darcy jumped slightly, then recovered. She stood still in the doorway.

“A traditional Cape Verdean song for when someone leaves to work far away or emigrate,” she said. “You’re not Jane.”

“Nope,” the voice said. “Beautiful place, Cape Verde. We were on Santiago after a mission in June. You’ve been?”

“Noooo,” Darcy said, trying to shift her plant so she could actually see the person and failing.

“That’s too bad,” he said mildly. “You should go.” Darcy frowned. A palm leaf brushed her forehead. She stood still for a beat. Darcy expected him to introduce himself or make an attempt on her life. Something. _Nada_. She could hear the machines whirring in the lab. 

“Um, my dude, who are you?” Darcy asked finally.

"Your new security guy," he said, taking the palm from her gently. "Where do you want this?"

"Near my desk," Darcy said. That was when she saw the side of his face. 


	2. Trinacria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! You're the best.

**_Trinacria_ **

_The Greek word Trinacria means "three pointed" and is the earliest known name of the island of Sicily, formerly a Greek possession, so named from its triangular shape. The ancient symbol of Trinacria is the head of Medusa (a gorgon with a head of snakes) overlaying three legs conjoined at the hips and flexed in triangle and three stalks of wheat. The Trinacria symbol has also been adopted by the modern Sicilian government and appears at the center of Sicily's flag. The Trinacria's shape is often referred to as a triskelion.--Wikipedia_

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to her slowly, once he’d set the plant down. He pasted on his biggest smile. “I was rude. I’m Brock Rumlow,” he said. He didn’t reach for her hand until she’d offered it first. He’d learned that people sometimes interpreted that aggressively now.

“Darcy Lewis,” she said, looking briefly down at his hand. To his surprise, she lost her balance a little. "Oh," she said. She did a funny list to one side--sort of like those _National Geographic_ television computer reenactments of the sinking of the Titanic--and clasped his one hand with both of her small ones during the handshake.

"You okay?" he asked, putting his other hand on her elbow for support.

"Yeah," she said, still holding his hand, but not looking at him. Odd. Maybe she was just nervous? He’d probably startled her. Foster’s assistant was tiny. They were both tiny little women, which was surprising, since he’d heard Foster was not to be crossed and Darcy Lewis was a firecracker. He'd seen both of them briefly, doing clean-up in Puente Antiguo and London, but they hadn't really spoken then. Also, he looked different now. He didn't expect her to recognize him.

“You may notice a few scars,” he said dryly. “I was slightly injured when the Triskelion collapsed on me. I was working undercover for Fury within HYDRA at the time. I think I look pretty good, all things considered.”

“Yeah,” she said again. She’d gone a little pink around the ears and not let go of his hand yet. Funny, he thought. Most people avoided contact with his hands.

His fingers had all survived, but they were--in his sister’s words--”kinda gnarly now.” To fill the awkward silence, he made a joke. That’s what the burn pamphlets told you to do. He was still adjusting to cracking jokes about himself, so he’d figured out one that felt light. “Couldn’t be helped really. Fate and all that,” he said.

“Fate?” she said, finally letting go and seeming to stabilize herself. Her eyes went slowly back to his face. Were those eyes green or blue? Blue-green? Difficult to tell, he thought. She was blushing in embarrassment.

“I’m Sicilian. The ancient symbol of Sicily is a triskelion of Medusa. My family’s superstitious, said it was bad luck to take a DC job at Triskelion when I was offered one, since we’d all fled Sicily to avoid death by mafia,” he said. “I didn’t listen. Hard-headed and stubborn.”

“Death by mafia?” she repeated.

“My great-grandfather talked shit to the wrong person in 1897,” he said. “You just can’t take things too personally, or you end up on a boat to Ellis Island. But the stubbornness is genetic.”

“Oh,” she said, her full mouth making a circle that was, he thought, really very cute for someone who was probably petrified of him.

Definitely petrified, he thought ten minutes later, when he returned from a coffee run and found Foster looking at her oddly. “Darce,” she said. “What is up with you? You’re not talking.”

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing, I swear.”

“I have coffee,” he said dryly. “I hear it can restore speech in the heavily addicted.” There were three paper cups in his tray. He handed one to Foster and the second to Lewis, who was looking at her shoes.

“Nice socks,” he said mildly. Her socks, peeking out from the shoes, had a pattern of strawberries on them.

“Th--thank you,” she said, taking the cup from him. He noticed her hands looked a little clammy.

Poor kid, he thought. She was very quiet all day long. Foster kept looking at her in a baffled way, so he caught on that it was not typical for her to be so quiet or so glued to her computer. It was almost like she was trying not to stare at him, so he moved to be out of her line of sight. But the tension didn’t ease in her shoulders. When they locked up the lab that night, she looked at him for the first time in several hours. “I--I--uh, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” he said casually, determined not to make a big deal out of it, let her get used to him. “What about?” he asked. “I don’t think you’ve done anything.” He smiled. That must have been the wrong thing to say, because she actually made a little _humm_ sound, blushed, and scurried after Foster.

“Okay!” she squeaked at him. Like a literal mouse. Where was the firecracker who’d tased Thor, he wondered?


	3. Gorgonize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

_**Gorgonize** _

_to stupefy, paralyze or petrify someone_

_In Greek mythology, the Gorgons (from the Greek adjective gorgos, meaning "terrifying") were commonly depicted as three female monsters who had snakes for hair and the ability to turn anyone who looked at them into stone. The most notorious of the three was Medusa; when she was slain by the hero Perseus, her severed head retained the power of turning anyone who looked on it to stone. In modern parlance, to gorgonize someone is to make him or her feel (metaphorically) petrified, usually through an intimidating glance or gaze.-Merriam Webster_

***

“Uhhhh,” the probie agent said. “Hel--hello,” he stammered nervously.

“Brock Rumlow. I’m here for Dr. Foster’s new equipment and a plant. Some sort of hibiscus?” the other man said.

“Yeah, yeah,” the new agent said. “We’ve got the equipment. I’ll get the handtruck for you, sir.” He hurried away. The man on the other side of the desk waited quietly. When the new agent came back with the hand truck, he looked up. “Here’s what you need,” the new agent said. “That’s it.” He looked from the man to the door. The man looked back at him expectantly.

“Don’t you need me to sign something?” he asked. “That’s the usual procedure.”

“Oh, right,” the probie agent said. “Sorry. Here,” he said, handing the other man a tablet. The man signed with a flourish, then handed it back.

“Thank you. Could you call up to lab 214 when the hibiscus arrives?” he asked calmly.

“Of course,” the new agent said nervously. “Will do!” He tried not to look too hard at the left side of the man’s face. The left side was the worse side.

The other man rolled the hand truck out and a second agent came by a few minutes later. “What’s wrong, Smith?” she asked the probie agent. Smith looked pale, she thought.

“Nothing,” Smith said. He preferred it when Dr. Foster sent her nice assistant, not the terrifying security guy. But it wasn’t like he could _say_ anything. You weren’t supposed to say things about how much the burned man made you nervous. It was rude. But dear God, he was intimidating.

***

He rolled the hand truck into lab 214 and right up next to Jane. You had to put things near enough for her to notice. In this case, a fridge sized box. “It’s here! It’s here!” she cheered. “I love new equipment day.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Where’s Darcy at?”

“Oh,” she said, looking around. “I didn’t realize she was gone.” Jane looked at the whiteboard. There was no note. “Weird,” Jane said. “I’ll have to put this together myself.”

“I can help,” he said.

“Thank you,” Jane said sincerely. He really was a nice man, despite his fearsome scars. Very quickly, they made progress: cutting away the cardboard and tape, unboxing the pieces, getting the appropriate allen wrenches. Still, Darcy failed to return.

“Is she avoiding new equipment day or does she just not like my face?” he asked a few minutes later.

“No, no, Agent Rumlow,” Jane said, embarrassed. “I’m sure there’s another reason she left. She’s a nice person, really.”

“I sometimes make nice people more uncomfortable,” he said dryly. Jane looked perplexed. “They get self-conscious about looking,” he explained.

“Oh,” Jane said sadly.


	4. Limerence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! Y'all are awesome.

**_Limerence (plural: limerences)_ **

_(psychology) An involuntary romantic infatuation with another person, especially combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one's feelings reciprocated._

_The physiological correlations of intense limerence can include seizure-like trembling, pallor, flushing, heart palpitations, pupil dilation and general weakness. Awkwardness, stuttering, shyness, and confusion predominate at the behavioral level. Less common effects include insomnia, loss of appetite, and passing out._

_If there is extensive anxiety, incorrect behaviour may torpedo the relationship, which may cause physical responses to manifest intensely. Some people acutely feel these effects either immediately or following contact with the limerent object. Blended is dire ecstasy or keen despair, depending on the turn of events._ _The sensitivity that stems from fear of rejection can darken limerent objects' perceived body language. Conflicted signs of desire may be emitted that confuse judgment. Often the limerent object is currently involved with another or is in some other way unavailable._

_A condition of sustained alertness, a heightening of awareness and an enormous fund of energy to deploy in pursuit of the limerent aim is developed. The sensation of limerence is felt in the midpoint of the chest, bottom of the throat, guts, or in some cases in the abdominal region.-Wikipedia_

**_***_ **

In the ladies bathroom in the most deserted part of the new temporary SHIELD complex, Darcy was freaking out. She didn’t know why she hadn’t reminded Brock that they’d met before, except she’d been trying so hard to hold in the crazy giggles she got around him that she’d almost fallen over. Darcy had tried to apologize for her rudeness, but he’d brushed it off like he didn’t remember her, either. _Probably blocked you out because you make crazy eyes at him like that Runaway Bride chick,_ her brain supplied helpfully. Darcy looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She had no idea what to do. He was her new bodyguard. She’d specifically requested that it not be Brock Rumlow. And that request had been to the one person at SHIELD--besides Clint, safely in Iowa--who knew exactly why she asked. Darcy had even managed to hide it from Jane, who was mercifully oblivious to all men not named Thor or Heinrich Gottschaulk (eminent astrophysicist from Berlin, eighty-three years old). Darcy reapplied the lipstick she’d worn off pressing her lips together anxiously, then finally snuck out of the bathroom.

She fumed as she marched down to the security office. They could locate the double-crosser. He knew how she felt about Brock Rumlow! The damn traitor. She was gonna get that troll. Beat him with his own star-spangled shield. She just needed to find him. When she got to the office, she stopped the nearest tech and glared. “Where is Captain Rogers?” she said sharply.

“Um, the cafeteria, I think?” he said. “He always eats lunch at this time. Everybody knows--”

“You’re sure?” she said sharply.

“I’ll check, Miss--?” he asked.

“Lewis, I’m Jane Foster’s assistant. It’s Avengers-related,” Darcy lied. She was not above a good lie in the name of justice. _Vindication_ , her brain supplied. She deserved vindication.

“Okay,” the tech said hurriedly.

Darcy sighed. If Clint had just worn shirtsleeves to work and behaved _like a normal person_ , maybe she never would have seen Brock Rumlow and been hit with a case of _coup de foudre:_ the French for “love at first sight.” Actually, it literally translated to “strike of lightning.” She thought that was appropriate. _Coup de foudre._ Or in her case, _coup de goofball. Coup de ditz. Coup de I’m gonna kill Steve Rogers today._ She had to do something. Even Jane would notice if she kept hiding in the ladies room and started sweating through her clothes in the lab. It might take a while, but eventually, Jane would notice.

  
***

**2011**

**Puente Antiguo, NM**

“You’re sure you don’t want to come work for us, Dr. Foster?” Phil Coulson said politely. He was having Jane sign a foot-thick stack of NDAs and various forms.

“I’m very certain,” Jane had said crisply. Darcy knew Jane was pissed. She could see a little muscle bobbing in Jane’s jaw. Darcy was gonna hear about this for months. Maybe years. Jane had been trying to dodge the SHIELD paperwork and succeeding--until Phil set up a traffic stop that looked like a DUI check, waylaid them, and was now leaning into Jane’s van window---as she kept a white-knuckle grip on the pen and signed with barely-repressed rage.

Erik had already agreed to a SHIELD job, but Jane wasn’t going to give in, she’d told Darcy. She had integrity. There had been a jibe about Erik “folding like a cheap suit, typical man,” which was unusually hot-tempered and sparky, even for Jane. But Darcy figured Jane was also missing Thor a lot. They hadn’t heard from him since he’d popped back into the sky with his World of Warcraft buds. Darcy wasn’t sure of anyone’s name but Hogun--he was polite and had introduced himself to them--so she’d nicknamed the rest: Asgard Lara Croft, Jolly Beard Guy, and Errol Flynn But Blonder. Darcy was laughing to herself about how Errol Flynn But Blonder had tried to pick up Jane and Thor had given him the hairy eyeball, when someone called Coulson’s name.

“Phil!”

“Yes, Rumlow?” Coulson replied politely, turning to face the person walking up to the van window.

“We’ve got a protocol breach in sector seven, sir,” the other man said. He was wearing their typical white shirt, black suit, and tie combo, but---Darcy sat up a little and sucked in a breath involuntarily--the man leaning his arm against Jane’s hood to face Phil was _gorgeous. Dreamy. Stunning._

“Protocol breach?” Phil said, sighing. “Barton?” The other man smirked and nodded.

“He’s shooting arrows at the locals again. That apples on the head trick,” Rumlow said wryly, as if this happened everyday.

“Fantastic,” Phil said dryly.

“I don’t think it’s obvious he’s one of us, sir. He told people he was a carny,” Rumlow said, rubbing his chin with the hand not on Jane’s van. _Oooooh,_ Darcy's brain stuttered.

“Of course he did, he used to be a carny,” Phil said. “Just tell me he’s wearing a shirt with actual sleeves this time?”

“No,” the other man said, smirking slowly. He shook his head.

“I’ll go take care of this, you collect Dr. Foster’s paperwork--the complete set--when she’s finished,” Phil said.

“Yes, sir,” he said. Phil walked off in a way that made Darcy wish she could be there when he confronted Agent Carny. “Barton can’t resist that stuff,” Agent Gorgeous said casually to them. 

“Uh-huh,” Jane said flatly, telegraphing _fuck off jack-booted thug._

“Uhhh-huh, yeah,” Darcy said simultaneously. She'd automatically leaned forward. A weird, high-pitched giggle escaped her and Jane looked over, frowning slightly, then returned to her paperwork when Darcy plastered on a _who me?_ face. What was wrong with her brain? She didn’t giggle. She was not a person who giggled. She had seen Thor in a hospital gown and not giggled.

“I should be done in just a sec,” Jane said dismissively.

“All right,” he said, taking the hint and stepping away. Darcy watched, rapt with attention, as he walked back and forth in front of the van. It wasn’t like he was pacing. He just moved well. The breeze ruffled his hair. _Good hair. Beautifully sharp jaw._ Another agent came up to talk to him and Darcy strained to hear their conversation as Jane scratched her signature into the paperwork and muttered curses.

Finally, he came around to collect the paperwork. To Darcy’s side of the van. She rolled down the window beaming like a moron and Jane passed her the stack of paperwork. She was already poised to hit the gas, Darcy realized. “Thanks,” he said.

“Ye-yeah. Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, feeling all flushed and smiling so widely it almost hurt.

“Fuck you all,” Jane said loudly. 

“You nice scientists take care now,” he said, smirking. He’d heard Jane.

“Yeep,” Darcy said. She’d meant to say _yes_ or _yep_ , but it had come out wrong. Jane mashed the gas pedal and the van jerked to life; Agent Gorgeous jumped back nimbly.

Darcy looked for Agent Gorgeous in the diner, the Rite-Aid, and the town’s three bars, but he left before they ran into each other again. Eventually, she’d stopped having that weird, fluttery butterflies feeling all the time or secretly hoping she’d turn a corner and he’d be there.

**2013**

**London, England**

She had thought she was over her oddly intense crush on him--she’d kissed Ian! Tall Ian! With the good accent!--when Agent Gorgeous stepped into the SHIELD disaster recovery tent. Darcy looked up and there he was, _real as life_. That was a British expression she’d learned. Her jaw dropped. “Darce?” Ian said. “What’s wrong?” 

"Huh?" Darcy said, pulling her eyes away from him to refocus. Darcy's heart had done a little skip and she'd forgotten where she was for a second. Then she remembered she was snagging some free coffee with Ian.

"What's wrong? You're spilling sugar," he said, gesturing at her hands.

“Nothing!” she said, too loudly, blushing already. Rumlow looked even better in whatever this tactical gear stuff was than he had in a suit. Was it possible that he'd gotten handsomer as he aged? Who did that? _Swoon_ , her brain supplied, and Darcy thought she might actually faint for realsies. He walked over the coffee pot. She froze, not quite sure what to do. Ian was right there. Also, she was slightly afraid that she'd, like, stumble into him. Totally on accident. She stirred anxiously with one of those plastic stirrers.

“Hey, you were on the news,” Rumlow said. Darcy’s head jerked up from where she was eyeing his muscles in appreciation. Did he mean her? Darcy looked behind her, just to be sure. There was no else around.

“Meeeeeee?” she said in an alarmingly high-pitched squeak.

“Yeah. You made six o’clock and eleven o’clock in DC, congrats,” he said. 

_Oh my God. I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe?_ Darcy thought. “Um, tha--thanks,” she said awkwardly.

“Rumlow! Got a Jotunheim beast on the loose!” someone called into the tent.

“That’s my cue,” he said, smirking. He turned and walked away and her heart just sank to the floor. He was leaving again. Wait! He’d stopped at the tent flap and turned back, smiling. “You behave, kid,” he said, “keep Foster out of trouble, okay?” He wagged a finger at her. She giggled. It was the giggle again.

“Okay!” she parroted back, her voice all high and squeaky. _Great. Could you be more embarrassing,_ she scolded herself mentally. Rumlow disappeared through the exit and Darcy sagged. What was it Tom Hanks had said about squeaky-voiced women in _You’ve Got Mail_? They were “like the mice in Cinderella.” She was a Cinderella mouse now? She was either that or sweaty _You’ve Got Mail_ Greg Kinnear going _thank your_ whenever Agent Gorgeous was around. “Ughhhhhh,” she said in frustration, clapping her hands over her face. A bead of sweat ran down her spine.

“What’s wrong?” Ian said.

“Nothing,” Darcy said in her normal, non-mouse voice. “I just forgot half and half.”

“Well, that is an emergency,” Ian said sweetly. He was really a good guy, Darcy told herself. At least she didn’t go to pieces around him. She was very calm around Ian. Always. Even naked.

Ten minutes or so later, they went to find Jane and Darcy tried to imagine taking her clothes off in front of Agent Gorgeous. As soon as she had the thought, she felt she might be actually having a heart attack: her heart thudded, she was all sweaty again, and she couldn’t take real breaths. “Are you all right?” Ian said, concerned.

“I-I just, uh, drank my coffee too fast,” she lied.

“We’ll get you that cream,” Ian said. “Then you won’t be so gulpy when you find the free stuff.”

**2013**

**Washington, DC**

Darcy and Ian were on a break--he’d reunited with his uni girlfriend--when the DC trip happened. She would have gone anyway, she told herself. Being single had nothing to do with it. Agent Gorgeous might be married by now; Clint had busted her when she asked a question about him after London and told her that Rumlow was usually single, but it would be a surprise to her if he wasn’t seeing somebody. Besides, he’d barely said two sentences to her. She was obsessing. Why was she obsessing? In an effort to figure it out, she’d googled. It turned out there was a whole psychology term for being a smitten idiot with someone. It was called _limerence._ People got all nervous, couldn’t talk, stuttered, sweated, blushed, every symptom she had around him, when they saw their “limeral object.” Like teenage girls with Justin Bieber, only worse. Apparently, if you had a tendency to limerize (she’d made that one up herself), you got so distracted it might set you back at work. Serial limerence sufferers were more likely to be flaky, it turned out. They were so busy thinking about their limeral objects, aka, bonkers crushes, that they probably set the kitchen on fire, Darcy thought. She was extremely glad this was not a regular thing that happened to her with men. He was the only person who'd ever been able to render her speechless and quaking in her boots at the same time.

She was going to shake her tendency, she’d vowed, when the quinjet touched down in DC. _Stop being an idiot, you tased Thor,_ she said to herself sternly. _One hot guy should not have you like this._

“You ready?” Jane said. She’d hidden her infatuation from Jane, not eager for a series of lectures beginning, _Oh, Darce not a jack-booted thug, no--_ for two years now. Surely, she could hide it for a week while Jane gave a lecture at SHIELD (a favor for Maria Hill) and visited friends (Steve, Natasha) with Thor. It would be a chill week.

“Yes,” Darcy said. She would make words, she would breathe normally, she would not obsess, even if they were technically in the same building. Most importantly, _she would not giggle._

Her vows worked for three days. It was an innocent coincidence, really. Jane asked her to go find Thor in SHIELD’s gym. It was after 9pm and most everybody had gone home, but Jane had gotten heavily into a Science! Talk with some people from R&D and Thor had wandered off, as he was wont to do sometimes. Usually for a snack or to hit things with Mew-Mew. So, Darcy followed the building directions for the gym. She got into the little glass box elevators and rode down to floor seven.

Floor seven was creepy. it was slightly dingy--no fancy visitors meant that nobody paid much attention, she grasped--and smelled like old socks and Icy Hot. She was wandering around when she heard sounds in the empty gym. She peered through one of the glass windows at the gym floor. There was someone hitting a bag.

Rumlow.

A very shirtless, extremely sweaty Agent Gorgeous.

“Oh my God,” Darcy whispered.

She ducked down instinctively, thinking _hide! hide!_ but stuck her head back up for a minute. He had his back to her and there were no mirrors, so there was no way he could see her, unless he turned around. She could just look, right? There was no harm in _looking._ Like a kid passing a candy shop or a toy store, she felt pulled to gawk. She straightened back up slowly. He was incredibly fit and muscular. He had back muscles she didn’t know you could get without Photoshop. It occurred to her as she was looking--innocently, she repeated in her mind--that the reason she had trouble making words around him was that she couldn’t really breathe very well. Weird things happened in her chest and her core, so her lungs didn't fill up all the way when she looked at him. He really hit those bags, though. Obviously Rumlow was breathing all the way, if the movement of his muscles was an indication. He was dripping sweat, too. Just pouring. His hair was actually soaked to his scalp. His back was all shiny and glowy. Tan. She hadn't realized he had tattoos, either. She stared.

It was just _looking_ , after all. 

She sighed.

Leaned closer to the glass.

He hit the bag another time and the light glinted off his shoulder.

"Hummm," she said out loud.

“Hey, Darce,” a voice said at her elbow. She did a little sound of surprise and jerked her head abruptly. Steve was standing there. He looked happy. Too happy. A happy Steve was a prankish Steve, in her experience.

“Hi, Steve, I was just looking for Thor. Have you seen him?” she said nervously. Her chest was probably all flushed, because she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and neck. She was so busted. 

“With your nose pressed to the glass?” Steve asked. He tapped the nose-print she’d left behind and grinned slyly.

“Oh. Whoops,” Darcy said, sighing and blushing more. She wiped it off with her shirt sleeve. _Hide the evidence._

“You like Rumlow,” he said. “You have a crush, Darce.”

“Did Clint tell you?” she hissed. “I told him--”

“Nope,” he said, “you just did. Also, you were practically kissing that glass window.”

“Goddammit,” Darcy said.

“Language,” Steve said. “Why don’t you go in, say hi. You want to say hi, right?”

“Yeah, but--” Darcy said.

“C’mon,” Steve said, gesturing. “Come talk to him.” The door was a few feet away.

“I can’t!” Darcy hissed.

“Sure you can, you talk to everybody,” Steve said.

“No, I literally can’t, Steve, I swear--”

“Darce,” Steve said, tilting his head. “Since when are you shy?”

“He just has a weird effect on me, it’s awful,” Darcy said in a low voice. “Awful, Steve.”

“Okay,” Steve said. Just then Rumlow called his name. Steve grinned. “Yeah?” he called back over his shoulder.

“Hey, Cap,” Rumlow said, appearing suddenly in the doorway, about six feet from her. “I wanted to catch you,” he said. He was so...shirtless, Darcy thought, feeling light-headed. _Think. Think,_ she told her brain. _Think words. Sentences. Say the sentences. No giggles. But don’t say abs. How do his abs look like that?_

“Hi, Rumlow,” Steve said politely. “You need anything?” Steve’s innocent face was going to kill Darcy. Also, the sight of Brock Rumlow walking towards them as he slung a towel over his neck. _Gah,_ she thought.

“Did you get those forensics reports yet?” Rumlow asked, missing Steve’s subtext.

“No,” Steve said.

“I’ll hustle ‘em if we haven’t gotten anything by Tuesday,” Rumlow said.

“Sounds good,” Steve said. “You remember Darcy Lewis, right? Jane Foster’s assistant?”

“Of course,” he said. “Hey.”

“Hiiiiiiii,” Darcy said, giggling. _Goddammit._

“You’re staying out of trouble? No more elves, right?” he said.

“Mu-hm-nope,” she said, stuttering.

“Good,” he said. “Cap, I’ll work on those forensics,” he said, disappearing back into the gym. The sound of him hitting the bag started again.

“Mu-hm-nope?” Steve said, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “I told you. It’s bad. Bad.” On their way back upstairs to look for Thor in the cafeteria, Steve mastered an impression of her giggle. “You are mean,” she told him.

“I didn’t know you could make sounds only me and dolphins can hear, Darce,” he said.

He liked to sneak up behind her and do the giggle at Tony’s Christmas party and then refused to tell anyone what it was about. Well, everyone but Clint. Steve did the giggle; Clint relished saying “Darce _really_ likes Italian” whenever they ordered takeout or chose a restaurant. He intentionally pronounced it “eye-talian.” Freaking trolls.

**2014**

**Maui, Hawaii**

**Haleakalā Observatory**

“Clint wants to talk to you, Darcy,” Jane had said, handing her the phone. “I’m going to go get Thor. Steve’s still in the hospital, so we’re all going back as soon as we can get a flight.”

“Me?” Darcy said, turning her head away from the news footage of a burning Triskelion and taking the phone. “Hello?” she said. They’d been shocked when someone had stuck their head into the observatory’s lab and said something about “bad things in DC.” The world here was so peaceful.

“Hey, Darce,” Clint said. “I have some news. We lost some people. Good people. There were bad injuries, too.”

“Bad injuries,” she repeated.

“Your favorite Italian was pretty badly hurt, honey, but it looks like he might pull through. They got him at the same hospital as Steve.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

“I thought you might want to see him, say hello,” Clint said quietly. “Man could use a friend right now.”

  
When they got to the hospital in DC, Steve was still asleep. Sam Wilson was eating his Jell-O. After they’d talked for awhile, Darcy wandered down the hallway, ostensibly looking for a bathroom. She stopped a nurse. “Do you know where Commander Rumlow’s room is?”

“Just down there on the left,” the nurse said. Darcy crept quietly down the hall. He was asleep and hooked to a baffling number of tubes and monitors. He looked so _hurt_. It made Darcy feel like someone had punched her in the stomach. She didn’t want to wake him or bother him--he’d probably be alarmed to wake up to a near-stranger in his room, right?--so she went quietly to the little rolling table next to his hospital bed. She reached into her pocket and set a small item on the wood laminate top.

Darcy’s mother collected snow globes. Darcy was in the habit of picking them up for gifts wherever she traveled. She’d grabbed a couple of mini ones from a gift shop in Maui. This one was a tiny palm tree that you shook so that little glitter flakes of “sand” landed on the bottom. Her mom wouldn’t miss it.

She didn’t know what to say to him, so she didn’t leave a note. When she went back to the other hospital room, Steve had woken up. “Hey, Darce,” he said. “Whaddya cryin’ for, we’re all gonna be okay.” Darcy had smiled back.

“You promise, Cap?” she asked.

“Captain’s orders,” he said.

*** 

**Present Day**

“Steven Grant Rogers!” Darcy yelled, when she spotted him with Sam Wilson in the cafeteria. She stomped over to their round table. Steve looked up and beamed.

“Darcy Elizabeth Lewis?” he said politely.

“I am going to kill you,” she said.

“What’d he do this time?” Sam asked.

“Samuel Florence Wilson,” he added, gesturing to Sam.

“My middle name isn’t Florence--” Sam began.

“You troll,” Darcy hissed. “You evil, evil troll. You put him in my lab just to watch me lose my mind! Give me that shield so I can beat you with it.”

“Mu-hm-nope,” Steve said.


	5. Basorexia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Y'all are fantastic readers!

**_Basorexia_ **

_the overwhelming desire to kiss or to steal a kiss from someone._

***

Steve--troll that he was, wouldn’t budge. “You two need good security, Darce, and he needs a light duty job for the next few months. Besides, you gonna spend all your time here making dolphin noises? I really thought you’d be over this by now,” he said.

“No,” Darcy said.

“Mu-hm-nope?” Sam said in a low voice. Steve had filled him in.

“Be quiet or I’ll have them put your middle name as Florence in the records. I know Karen in IT. She’d do it for me,” Darcy said.

“Why’s he bug you like this?” Steve said. “You’re around Thor all the time, you treat him fine--”

“Also, us, we’re handsome,” Sam said. “I’m astoundingly good-looking, even if he’s just okay.”

“You treat us fine,” Steve agreed, nodding.

“I have a psychological problem,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Steve said.

“What’d your therapist say?” Sam asked.

“I googled it, I don’t have an actual diagnosis,” she said.

“Darcy,” Steve said, sighing.

“My symptoms totally match. Also, _Captain Jerkface_ , I told you specifically that I needed distance for him and his handsomeness. You overrode my explicit orders. My one rule!” Darcy said.

“You know what? He does that. Just runs right straight into whatever you tell him not to do,” Sam said casually, sipping his Gatorade.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Darcy said.

“I’ll call Maria,” Steve said.

“No, no. Oh, you can’t do it now. It’ll hurt his feelings,” Darcy said. “He’ll think I’m scared of him or something.”

“That the only reason?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow and smiling.

“Mind your business,” she told him.

“She shot that down like it was your plane, Cap,” Sam said, chuckling.

“Don’t you say anything to anybody, either, or I’ll tase you all the way back to Brooklyn,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said.

“I want you to know you’re worse than Natasha,” she told him.

“What?” Steve said, truly shocked.

“At least she admits to meddling, you meddle while refusing to acknowledge your meddling,” Darcy told him. “You think on that, Captain. What would Peggy say?”

When she’d walked away, Steve looked at Sam. “I don’t get it. She talks to everybody. She’d talk the Red Skull’s ear off, if he was safely under Thor’s hammer,” Steve said. “But she gets within a few feet of him and turns into a tongue-tied gigglebox?” Sam shrugged.

“It’s a mystery,” he said.

“You really think I’m worse than Natasha?” Steve asked.

“You really want me to answer that?” Sam said.

**_***_ **

Darcy was headed back to the lab--her mantra: _contain the giggle, contain the giggle--_ when the elevators doors opened and Brock was standing there. “Hey,” he said, “we were worried about you.”

“Hi,” Darcy said, swallowing the giggle. She would talk. She needed to talk. “Sorry. Steve, uh, pulled a prank on me, so I had to go find him and yell at him and whatnot, you know how Cap is, total troll, worse than Natasha, the works--” she said in a rush. Brock looked surprised.

“Yeah?” he said. “He doesn’t really troll me?”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I didn’t know that. Sorry,” she repeated reflexively. There was an awkward pause that lasted several floors. She looked anywhere but at him. She was sweating a lot, she realized. _Why is it so freaking hot on this elevator? Does he just radiate hotness?_ The elevator doors opened on a different floor and woman stepped on. Darcy recognized the woman as one of the mid-level SHIELD people from the logistics division.

“Brock, are we still on for dinner tonight?” she said, looking oddly at Darcy. Darcy had edged backwards towards the corner and was trying to covertly see if she had sweat marks visible on her shirt and armpits. _Damn. She’d boob-sweated through the front of her shirt. There were damp blots on her belly. Again._

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miranda.”

“Good,” she said. They were smiling at each other. Darcy had a weird squished feeling in her chest, like someone was standing on it. She felt sad to realize he was seeing someone, which was stupid, because she couldn’t even talk to him. You couldn’t technically date someone yourself when you couldn’t have a reasonably-sane convo with them.

_Stupid,_ she thought. _I’m so stupid._

“Darcy,” Brock said gently. She jumped and looked at him in alarm, afraid she’d said something out loud. “This is our floor?” he prompted. The elevator doors were open and people were looking at her.

“Oh,” she said. She was a freaking _SNL_ skit character now. Weird Sweaty Work Girl.

***

“Jane,” Darcy said, once they were back in the lab and Rumlow had gone to refill their coffee. Darcy had changed shirts in the bathroom. She’d starting carrying extras with her, but it was still humiliating to try to blot the sweat off her body, shirtless, in a bathroom stall. Plus, those weird brown paper towels were scratchy. “Can we do a girls’ night soon?”

“Sure,” Jane said. “Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “That would be good.”

“Face masks and martinis?” Jane said. “Thor will want to come.”

“Sure,” Darcy said. Thor was an excellent mixologist and game to try any beauty treatment. He let Darcy paint his toenails.

Brock came back with coffee and Jane smiled brightly. He smiled back. He had a great smile. Darcy tried to unobtrusively wipe sweat off her forehead.

“Are you hot?” he asked. “You look hot.”

“Uhhhh,” Darcy said, biting her lip. _Help me Lord, help me Oprah,_ she thought _. Help me Pepper Potts._

“I can adjust the thermostat?” Brock said.

“I think you’re getting sick, your failure to quip is alarming me. Usually, she says ‘people say I am’ or something?” Jane said. Brock chuckled.

“That’s a good line,” he said, grinning. He reached out and felt her forehead. “She’s very warm,” he told Jane. “Maybe I should take you to medical?” he told Darcy. Darcy shook her head.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Fine.”

“Yeah, you are,” Brock said teasingly and Jane laughed. Darcy let out a nervous squeak and Jane looked at her.

“Why are you making lab rat noises so much lately?” she asked.

“Ummm,” Darcy said, concentrating very much on Jane so she could make words. “I really like cheese?”

***

“I’m in love with Brock Rumlow,” Darcy said doubtfully. They were sitting on her couch, drinking in their pjs.

“What?” Jane said. Darcy nodded. “What?!” She scrunched her nose behind her clay mask. “You just met him!”

“Technically, no,” Darcy said, sighing. “We met in Puente Antiguo, when you attempted to run over his foot. Then I ran into him a few times in London and DC.”

“Puente Antiguo….” Jane said, thinking. Then, she sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. The giggle! She only does the giggle around him! And doesn’t talk,” she called into the kitchen. Thor was refilling the drinks.

“Aye,” Thor said, coming into the room with several caramel apple martinis. He had a brightening mask on. “Also, the noises of the mouse.”

“How do you know? You weren’t there!” Darcy said, whipping around to look at him.

“Heimdall sees everything,” Thor said, winking.

“Oh God,” Darcy said, groaning.

“What?” Jane said.

“She has admired him in the gymnasium,” Thor said wickedly.

“Kill me now with the hammer, please?” Darcy requested, burying her flushed face in a couch cushion.

“I shall not,” Thor said.

“But Darce, that was years ago. Are you telling me you’ve been nursing a crush on him since 2011?” Jane said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “He has no clue, though. I’m such an awkward weirdo around him, I don’t even feel like myself. At all. I feel exactly like I’m twelve again, I have a zit on my forehead, and big ol’ Coke bottle glasses ‘cause we couldn’t afford the cool ones, and Stacey Yates told Billy Talbot I I had a crush on him and he said, _oh, no, not her_. The nightmares of the nineties are alive and well in the lab, Jane.”

“Did you just steal that from _Portlandia_ ’s theme song?” Jane said, snorting.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I just realized that I need to move to Portland and get a job as a pour-over barista-slash-socialist. There needs to be at least a continent or an ocean between me and him for my brain to function normally,” Darcy said.

“You could just sleep with him and get it out of your system?” Jane said.

“Pffffht, like that wouldn’t make me Lifetime movie crazy,” Darcy said,

“Why would it make you crazy?” Jane said in confusion.

“Can Heimdall tell her about his abs?” Darcy asked Thor. “They’re beautiful.”

“Does he still have them? I mean, after all that--” Jane began doubtfully.

“The arms are still pretty,” Darcy said, sighing.

Jane looked at Darcy. _Pretty_ wouldn’t have been how she described Brock Rumlow’s arms. They were still muscular, yes, but covered with a pattern of pink, raised scars that reminded her of faux-alligator handbags. She noticed that they seemed to be fading, however.

***

Brock wondered why he’d agreed to go on this blind date with Miranda’s friend and Miranda and her husband. People were always trying to set him up now. He guessed they worried that he was lonely. People didn’t understand that it was possible to be lonely in a room full of people and perfectly content at home alone. “So, you were a Navy SEAL and now you work for SHIELD?” Lauren asked. She was Miranda’s friend. Nice enough, really, but no fireworks. He was bored. He’d much rather be at home. Or at work, even. Work had been interesting lately. The lab was different and that meant he had to shift off instinct and long-term practices to learn new things.

“Yes,” he said. He smiled politely.

“He jumps out of planes,” Miranda said, trying to talk him up.

“Actually, right now, I’m doing more security work,” he said. He’d started a new experimental treatment with Helen Cho in New York about eight weeks ago. Cho was working for Stark Industries currently. After Fury went to see her, she’d taken Brock on as a study patient for a new deep tissue regenerator especially designed for burn victims. Every two weeks, he took Amtrak to the city, took his clothes off, and sat in a weird box in goggles while it scanned him with a light. It was a little like being in a coffin-sized copier, only naked. If he was lucky, he fell asleep. Coffin copier naps were very restful. His scars seemed lighter--they’d gone from deep blood-blister red grooves to soft pink lines. Cho couldn't bring back his ear, but she might be able to restore 85% or so of his pre-Triskelion appearance. It had been a pleasant surprise when his tattoos had recovered their original shapes, however. Brock had missed them. Otherwise, he felt the same. He’d been using the six hours round trip on the train to read or listen to podcasts. Sometimes, he visited his sister, who still lived in New York.

“He guards Thor’s girlfriend, the genius scientist,” Miranda said. “And he knows all the Avengers.”

“You do?” Lauren said, sounding impressed.

“That’s classified,” he said dryly. “Which she knows.”

“Is it?” Lauren said.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “Thor’s _girlfriend_ \--she’d slap you for that, Miranda--has been the target of at least three known kidnapping attempts since 2011.”

“Oh my God,” Lauren said. “Did Thor have to rescue her?” She said it dreamily.

“Nope,” Brock said. “One time, she hit a guy with a baseball bat first--Jane’s a Louisville Slugger girl, old-fashioned--and the other two times, her assistant tased the attacker and then Jane hit ‘em with the bat. They’re, uh, self-rescuing princesses?” That had been Jane’s joke.

“Oh,” Lauren said. “That sounds pretty brave.”

She was right. It had been brave: he’d read the incident reports when Fury assigned him to Foster’s lab. Not for the first time, Brock wondered why the sight of him seemed to terrify Darcy Lewis so much when she’d taken down the six-foot-four assassin known as the “Butcher of Belarus” without being scared? He’d listened to their taped interviews; Darcy even sounded different. But then again, lots of people sounded different on tape. He sighed internally. Brock had sort of been hoping they’d get along. It was harder to connect easily with people now. He’d taken that for granted, he realized. Maybe if he’d engaged with her more on the handful of times they’d met previously, he’d have made a warmer impression. He’d have to think of something to break the awkwardness.

They were just finishing dinner when he got an alert message on his phone. “I have to take this, I’m sorry,” he said politely, standing up. “Hey, Cap.” He walked outside.

“That’s Captain America,” Miranda said in a whisper.

“Can you set me up with him?” Lauren joked. “He’s nice, but Brock’s not that into me, I can tell.”

“Oh,” Miranda said, disappointed.

“You can’t tell there’s no spark?” her husband teased.

***

Darcy was on her fourth--fifth?--caramel apple martini and her second face mask. The doorbell rang. “I shall attend to our guest!” Thor called. Jane was in the kitchen making popcorn.

“What guest?!” Darcy yelled from the bathroom. She was smearing a fruit-scented glow mask on. She toddered out towards the the living room. “We should try a strawberry martini next time. Did I ever tell y’all about how my little cousin used to pronounce it _straw-bury_ , so we used to ask him to read things on menus out loud? Poor baby had to say strawberry milkshake all the time,” she slurred.

“Straw- _bury_?” Brock said. Darcy’s heart did a little stutter. Brock Rumlow was standing in her foyer.

“Brock?” she said weakly.

“Cap sent me to make sure you weren’t partying too hard over here. Am I too late?” His voice was wry. Thor was standing in front of him, so his view of Darcy was slightly blocked by a wall of blonde Asgardian muscle, but Darcy saw him lean around to see her.

“Eeep,” Darcy said, panicking and scurrying into the kitchen with Jane. “You’re not supposed to see me like this!” she yelled.

“I’m not?” he said. He looked at Thor. “Why am I not?” Brock asked. Thor looked at him and smiled. It was an odd smile for Thor; for a second it reminded Brock vividly of the file photos of Loki.

“Would you like a martini with the caramel apples, my friend?” Thor offered.

“Sure,” Brock said. “I brought food since technically I’m crashing your party,” he called into the kitchen. “Can I see you if I’ve got cheese?”

“He brought cheese,” Jane said, starting to laugh. “Cheese for the lab mouse.” She shook with laughter over the popcorn bowl.

“Isn’t that how you get mice to come out and talk?” Brock asked from the kitchen doorway. He had a block of sharp cheddar and a box of Ritz crackers in a shopping bag. “Thor says you’ve got booze in here?”

“Yo-you can have mine? I’m--I’m making another one,” Darcy stuttered nervously, staring at the martini shaker. They had a jumbo one. She had thigh sweat. His date suit was killer. Most people would look silly in a dark blue suit and a black shirt. Not him.

“Nonsense,” Thor said, elbowing into the kitchen, taking the cheese from Brock, and steering Darcy out by the elbows with her drink. “I will make it!” Thor said. _It was oddly like being carried off by a wave,_ Darcy thought. _She was just being carried along by a lot of male meddlers. Damn them. She just wished her face wasn’t covered in pink face mask. Also, her pajamas had little penguins and hearts on them. Not terribly alluring._

Behind her, Jane whispered “cheese!” in a delighted voice. She was carrying the bowl of popcorn.

“How was your date with M-Miranda?” Darcy said nervously, once they were sitting in the living room. “Steve really shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“My what?” Brock said. He turned to look at her. Jane had been giving him popcorn.

“You-your date?” Darcy said, cringing at the way she couldn’t project her voice when he was looking at her. She took a big swig of her martini and splashed a little on her pajamas.

“Oh,” Brock. “It was a set up with Miranda’s friend. Miranda’s married to Bob in logistics. Double-date,” he explained to Jane.

“You left?” Jane said curiously. Thor brought over his martini.

“Of course. Cap was worried you’d be in trouble over here,” he said. “It’s my job, after all. This is a good drink, man.”

“Aye,” Thor said. “Will you have a mask?”

“A mask?” Brock asked. “Like Jason?”

“No!” Darcy said, horrified at the idea that Brock might think they didn’t want to see his face. “He, uh--uh, means a beauty mask.” She gestured to her pink product-covered face. “For pores and zits and”-- _oh God, why did I say zit?--_ ”like a clay mask?”

“We put stuff on our faces, get drunk, and paint Thor’s toenails,” Jane explained more calmly.

“Huh,” he said. “I don’t think it would hurt. Darcy, will you show me?” he asked.

“Y--yeah,” she stammered. “What about your nice suit?”

He looked down. “Huh. I can always take my jacket and shirt off,” he said. Darcy tried very hard not to squeak and mostly succeeded.

This was how Darcy found herself smearing a clay mask on Brock Rumow’s face in her small bathroom. God, she’d never realized how small it was before. “What does this stuff do?” he asked, just as she was thinking _eyes up there Darcy, eyes up there_ . _The abs were still great. Scarred, but fantastic. Amazing. Fabulous._

“Uh, it’s fabulous,” Darcy said, anxiety making her sound like Isaac Mizrahi or a game show host. “It has tumeric and, uh, other things--”

“The spice?” he asked. She nodded.

“That makes your skin all glowy and, uh, stuff,” she said doubtfully.

“I’m gonna be glowy, huh?” he said wryly. He moved closer to her.

“Yeah,” she said, breathless again. “You have nice skin.”

“You think I have nice skin?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” she said, eyes dipping over his torso. “You’re all...tan?”

“I’m tan?” he said. _Is she kidding? Or trying to be nice?_ he wondered. He tilted his head.

“Naturally tan,” she said nervously. “If you were as pale as me, y--y-you’d envy you--” _Oh dear God, is my tongue getting thick? I feel light-headed. Am I making too much saliva? I feel like I’m making too much saliva,_ Darcy thought frantically.

“Envy me?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said shakily, dabbing face mask on his jawline and trying to swallow.

“Uh-huh,” he said. Brock looked at her. Really looked. _She’s panicking. Her neck is all flushed and she keeps swallowing. There’s sweat on her forehead. Her hands shake when she touches me. Whatever’s going on is actually getting worse, not better. That is fucking weird._

“Darcy”, Brock began softly, leaning in, “if I---” She locked eyes with him for a second and looked, well, like she was having some sort of strange emotion. For a second, he wondered if she was going to faint? Then she suddenly leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. He was so surprised that he froze for a moment. She pulled away, looking horrified.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, then fled the bathroom.


	6. Kairos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Y'all are cracking me up with the comments! Thank you!

**Kairos:**

_is an Ancient Greek word meaning the right, critical, or opportune moment. The ancient Greeks had two words for time: chronos and kairos. The former refers to chronological or sequential time, while the latter signifies a proper or opportune time for action. While chronos is quantitative, kairos has a qualitative, permanent nature._

_In the literature of the classical period, writers and orators used kairos to specify moments when the opportune action was made, often through metaphors involving archery and one’s ability to aim and fire at the exact right time on-target. For example, in The Suppliants, a drama written by Euripides, Adrastus describes the ability to influence and change another person’s mind by “aiming their bow beyond the kairos.”_

_Kairos is also an alternate spelling of the minor Greek deity Caerus, the god of luck and opportunity. -Wikipedia_

***

“Well,” Brock said to Jane as he walked into the living room, “that was interesting.”

“What happened?” Jane said, alarmed.

“I thought she was scared of me until she kissed me in the bathroom.” He grinned.

“Oooh,” Jane said.

“Nope, she’s not scared,” a familiar-sounding voice said from somewhere in the room. Thor flipped his tablet to face Brock.

“It is Captain Steve!” he said cheerfully. “Also, Sam of the Wilsons! I have Timed of the Face with them to inform them of your arrival.”

“She’s crazy about you,” Steve said, grinning. “Has had a thing about you for _years_.”

“Sister wants to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane,” Sam said, elbowing Steve aside. “Tell us about the kiss? Tongue? No tongue?”

“Guys,” Jane said scoldingly, “she doesn’t want him to know that.” She frowned and looked at Brock. “Where is she?”

“Hiding in her room. I’m going to see if she’ll open the door?” Brock said. He got a few feet down the hall, stopped, and went back to the kitchen. He had an idea. “Jane, I’m borrowing your chocolate,” he said, snagging a box of candy. “I’ll pay you back.” He looked at the top of the fridge. There was a row of snow globes. He smiled cryptically.

“No problem,” Jane said. _What was he going to do with a box of Sno-Caps,_ she wondered? He headed back down the hallway again.

“What y’all got on your faces?” Sam asked.

“A treatment of beauty,” Thor said.

“Yeah, I don’t need that, I’m beautiful enough,” Sam said. Steve scoffed audibly, somewhere off-screen. “If I got more beautiful, it might give Cap a complex,” he told Thor seriously. Thor nodded.

***

“Darcy?” Brock said, knocking gently. “You okay in there, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Can I come in?” he asked. He tried to sound soothing and not like a guy who was quietly pleased because a beautiful woman found him attractive. But fuck, it was a great feeling. He knew that most of the women he’d been set up with since the building collapse had been very extensively warned about his appearance beforehand. It had a dampening effect on chemistry when people were trying to be so _careful_ with you. So polite. It felt infantilizing.

“You want to talk to me?” Darcy asked in a low voice. “I’m so embarrassed. I basically harassed you, legally-speaking.”

“I don’t think it would hold up in court,” he said. He had a gut instinct that he and Darcy would have great chemistry, if he could put her at ease. First, he was going to talk to her, then he was going to ply her with chocolates, and if all that worked, he was going to convince her that sleeping with him in the near future was a great idea and would solve some of her jitters.

“No?” she said.

“Under cross-examination, I’d be forced to admit that I was flattered—”

“What?” Darcy said, opening the door.

“Very flattered,” he said. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Me, uh, kis--look, I’m so sorry. So sorry, like I haven’t felt this bad since we hit Thor with a van in New Mexico, I feel so guilty, it was totally accidental--” she began, the words coming out in a rush. He stepped into her bedroom while she was still talking and glanced around.

“I’m, I’m just really stupid around you--I don’t know why, I’m not that way around--around anybody else. God, I’m sweating again,” she said, sounding frustrated.

“You’re crazy about me,” he said.

“Uhhhhhh,” she said, sounding like she couldn’t breathe very well.

“I’m fine with that, by the way,” he said. It was a nice room, he thought. Big fluffy comforter on the bed, lots of pillows. Some stuff that was obviously travel knicknacks, like a tiny painted elephant, and a bunch of photos hung on a frame on the wall. A little cluttered, but essentially warm. Rooms were a good way of gauging people sometimes. Not always, but this time he felt safe making judgment calls.

“Wh-what?” she said.

“I think we should have dinner soon. I have to go to New York the day after tomorrow--it’s a medical thing--but maybe Friday? Unless you’d like to go with me? It’s nothing exciting, but we’d have plenty of time to talk on the train,” he said.

“Really?” she said. “With me?” She sounded all breathless again. He grinned.

“Sit. I stole Jane’s chocolates,” he said, leading her to the bed.

“Those are mine, I love Sno-Caps,” she said as he unwrapped the box. “I like the way they’re all crunchy and chocolatey.”

She was still all flushed he noticed, as she ate one of the chocolates. The top button on her little penguin pajamas had come undone, so he could see her neck. Impulsively, he leaned down and kissed her flushed skin. She made a sound. That _humm_. He liked that sound. Brock wanted to hear it again. He kept kissing her neck, since he couldn’t kiss her mask-coated face. But there was a problem. “I don’t want to get face mask on your pajamas, sweetheart,” he said. He’d learned that innocent voice from Steve.

“Mmm-hmm,” she stuttered as he undid her buttons. It was a lot of fun hearing her. Seeing her, though. More than fun.

“Sweetheart,” he said, pulling her pajama top away. He raised an eyebrow.

“Ye-yeah?” she said, inhaling slightly.

“You’re going to ruin me for other women with that body,” he teased.

“Shut up,” she said, sounding a fraction more like the sassy girl from the incident tapes. “It’s wrong to troll me when--when--”

“When you’re half-naked?” he said. “I knew the chocolates would help.” He leaned over and kissed her mouth, carefully avoiding the mask. She tasted like chocolate and booze. They were probably going to get face mask all over one another, but did it matter? “Mmm,” he said, grinning, when he pulled away. “Are you attached to the idea of finishing those Sno-Caps?”

“Nope,” she whispered. She was sweating again. He smirked and kissed her neck. As he was kissing her, she set the chocolate on her nightstand and he used her bending forward as an opportunity to run his hands over her. She made another little sound. He leaned her back on the bed and then looked at her seriously. The sweating had reminded him of her being sweaty in the elevator.

“Would you have sex with me in the elevator at work sometime?” he asked. “Maybe at night? I can have Dave in security erase the footage.”

“Brock!” she said.

“That’s a yes, right? You’re all flushed,” he teased.

“Oh my God, you’re--stop that,” she said. “Unfair. You really---oh.”

The sweat between her breasts tasted like salt. He applied himself to trailing a line of kisses and licking down her belly until she was breathless and running her hands through his hair. He left a trail of face mask smudges. “How would you feel about me taking your pants off right now?” he asked.

“Happy,” she said, reaching down to help him. “Do you have condoms? There are some in my nightstand.”

“Hmm,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “I’m good. You good?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

“You feel very good,” he told her, cupping her breast. He sucked at one rose-colored nipple and she moaned. 

He really liked the sounds she made when he pressed himself inside her best. The friction of those first thrusts had sent his mind reeling with pleasure. She was making all kinds of soft cooing sounds underneath him now as he moved his hips slowly. He’d wanted to be gentle with her. The serums had increased his strength and the texture of his skin was still a little different; he had a secret fear of a lover finding him monstrous. But she was clinging to him as if her life depended on it, her arms wrapped around his back, eyes dilated. “You think you can handle more?” he teased, trying to hide how dazzled he was by her. Everything about her was his opposite: her skin was creamy-white where he was scarred and her body impossibly soft where he was muscular. Pillowy-soft, his brain registered, as she squeezed her thighs around his hips.

“Uh-huh,” she said. He increased the pace of his thrusts and felt her shiver in delight. ”Ohhhhh,” she said. He pushed himself until she spasmed, digging her nails into his shoulders, and he came with a jerk.

“Fuck,” he hissed, moving his hips when she clenched around him again.

“Oh, God, oh God,” she moaned, pressing her face into his neck.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he said, feeling his own body tremble slightly. He jerked his hips a final time.

“Mhmmm,” she said. He rolled them both over onto their sides, his arm around her waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this *might* be the first time I've written a love scene from a male POV?


	7. Espial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Espial:

_the action of watching or catching sight of something or someone or the fact of being seen.- Google Dictionary_

_***_

She woke up alone. _Oh God,_ Darcy thought. _I slept with him! Oh God._ Last night, when he’d been feeding her chocolate and kissing her neck and so appealingly half-naked, she had not thought about the morning. This morning and every morning afterwards, when they’d be working together. _He’s already ditched Weird Sweaty Work Girl. I’ll be miserable_ , she thought. _Utterly miserable._

She needed coffee and consult with Jane. _I might need to go yell at Steve, too,_ Darcy thought. She got up and put on her bathrobe, going into the hallway with a sigh. _How do I get myself into these situations?_ She heard Jane open the fridge and made a beeline into the kitchen. “Janey,” she said, “please tell me you have coffee?”

“I think she’s still asleep,” Brock said, leaning around the door, “but I do have coffee, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. She was startled. She really thought he was gone.

“Your bathrobe has little sheep?” he said, grinning.

“Are you making fun of me right now?” she said, putting her hands on her hips. The surprise of him being there, smirking, seemed to break a little of her shyness. That and last night.

“You know,” he said, “the funniest thing happened when I was in the hospital after Triskelion. I was out for a week and a half”--he gestured with the creamer--“this enough?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Anyway,” he said, handing her the mug, “I was out for a week and a half. I wake up, I’m attached to all kinds of wires and tubes, I’m in agony. The pain, it’s blinding, even on morphine. My doctor explains that I’m just going to have to suffer, because the amount of drugs you’d need to actually end the pain from these kinds of burns all over your body would kill me, probably. Depress my respiratory system too much. They’ve maxed out my dose. I need some sort of distraction. It’s after visiting hours, so my sister’s already gone, but she left me a little note under this snow globe. Tiny little snow globe with a palm tree. I look at the little thing and I think of things to rag Bianca about when she gets back. That gets me through the first, oh, six, eight hours of being awake.” Darcy inhaled.

“Yes?” she said, more tentatively.

“So, when she gets back, I say, “what’s this, you turning into a baby nonna on me?” She has no idea, swears it wasn’t hers. I keep asking. She denies it. We actually have a fight about it, just like we always fight at the holidays, which made me feel very normal, because she swears it was there when she got there. None of the nurses know who brought it, either. Nobody from SHIELD knows. Nobody will talk to me about my injuries, everybody’s very carefully avoiding _that_ topic, so I know it’s bad. But I can’t do anything about it, so instead I just ask everybody: this your snow globe? Everybody says no. I keep asking. It becomes a running joke. A new nurse transfers in, she makes sure to tell me it’s not her snow globe, too. It’s not Fury’s snow globe”--Darcy made a strangled noise--”oh yeah, I asked him, too. I ask Hill, I ask everybody. Zilch, nada, nothing. Except, you know, I ask Cap when he comes down the hall in his old man plaids for a visit and he hesitates. It’s not his snow globe, he says, after about a two-second pause. Well, Cap doesn’t pause, he’s got that perfect memory, so at first I think, is this a prank or did he just hit his head too hard? But he insists he didn’t leave it there. I say, “well, you know who did?” and he pauses again, says no, and asks me about Barnes. That distracts me. We talk about Barnes for awhile and it isn’t until after he leaves that it dawns on me that Cap must know. I’ve been asking him about that damn snow globe since I got out of the hospital, trying to figure out who did me that little benediction.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling a little emotional and also less likely to hit Steve with his shield.

“Yeah,” Brock said, “I ask him again a few weeks ago, he tells me that he’s found the perfect job for me, guarding Foster _and her very nice assistant_ while I do this new light therapy. Stupidly, I don’t put two and two together until I see that row of snow globes up there.” He pointed at the top of the fridge.

“I left the snow globe,” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Just figured that out last night.”

“I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t leave a note,” Darcy said.

“Sweetheart?” he said.

“Yeah?” Darcy said.

“Leave a damn phone number,” he said.

“I didn’t think of that,” she admitted.

“I keep the snow globe on my nightstand. I used to keep it at work, but then Barton decided to tell everybody that I loved snow globes and people kept giving them to me. I just wanted yours. C’mon,” he said, taking her coffee.

“Where we going?” she asked.

“Back to bed. You still need to finish your Sno-Caps,” he told her.

When she’d climbed back into bed, he looked at her and stopped. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He came back with a damp washcloth.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“You’ve got mask on your face still,” he said. “That’s probably not supposed to be on overnight, is it?”

“Oh God,” she said. “I totally forgot. Give me that. This is so embarrassing.” Darcy sat up and put down her Sno-Caps. “It’s like I’m a human humiliation machine around you. I'm perfectly normal around everyone else.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he said cheerfully, holding the washcloth just out of her reach. “I’ve got this. Besides, it’s cute when you’re embarrassed, Miss Mouse.” He dabbed gently at her nose.

“That’s going to be my nickname, isn’t it?” she said.

“Do a little squeak for me?” he asked.

“Noooooooooo,” Darcy said.

-THE END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos on this story!

**Author's Note:**

> Cesaria Evora's Sodade: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERYY8GJ-i0I


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